Many Maidens Fair
by Gargoyle13
Summary: The Knights, their women and, for a few, their families. Will include movie and non-movie Knights eventually.
1. Gawain

**Disclaimer:** As always, I don't own anyone you recognize – just the ideas and any OC's.

**A/N: **The idea for this came about via some PM's about some of my other stories but this series isn't necessarily tied to anything else that I've done. That being said, you will likely recognize some names/faces if you've read some of my other pieces. I rated it 'M' because let's face it – the guys talking about women can get raunchy quickly since I'm not putting any restrictions on them or trying to fit them into a particular style. Normally I would ask the movie guys to contribute first then tackle the non-movie but I decided to just take them as they step forward. And – as a final note – yes, I am a softie so no, nobody dies on the ice or in the final battle. They all get happy-ever-after…whatever that means to each of them.

* * *

Gawain watched Áine through long, golden lashes as she sat pretending to darn someone's tunic while he pretended to coach their youngsters grappling and scuffling in the grass of the courtyard. It was a private game that had begun between Gawain and Áine shortly after they had met; they would slyly watch each other and the first one to be caught was the other's slave for the night… Gawain chuckled as he counted in his mind just how many times he had been caught, noting that the five boys currently knocking heads in all likelihood had been products of various evenings he'd spent as Áine's slave. He came back to the present when he heard her clear her throat loudly and realized that, yet once again, he has been caught staring while lost in thought.

Heaving a very fake sigh of resignation, Gawain rose slowly from his seat upon the step and stepped onto the small patio where Áine's chair was situated. He did his best to look dejected – he shuffled instead of sprinted and made certain his head and shoulders drooped, though that was really just to let his long mane hide the smile he struggled to contain. Reaching her chair, Gawain peered through golden strands and could not contain his own mirth at the amusement he saw in his wife's eyes. With a wink and a smile, he nudged her forward on the seat so he could slip in behind her; once he was situated, Áine scooted as far back between his thighs as she could while Gawain wrapped strong arms around her waist. They had spent many an evening like this before the boys – curled in each other's arms, speaking words of affection softly, trading tender touches and kisses…much to the aggravation and disgust of his brethren who had helpfully tried to suggest various places the lovers might take their affairs. The worst had been Galahad though. Gawain's relationship with Áine had strained their friendship to near breaking before finally, mercifully, Galahad had relented and accepted Áine as Gawain's wife…which always made Gawain chuckle as once Galahad did that, Áine had introduced the boy to the woman that shortly after became his wife…

"Caught you." She laughed quietly as she felt him shrug and heard his whisper that she did not sound surprised. Her slender shoulders shook with contained laughter as she patted one of his thighs. "You are correct – 'twas no surprise though I have to wonder if you are feeling well…?"

"Aye love…I am well…why do you ask?"

"Took you long enough to get caught; was beginning to wonder if this eve would find me cuddling with myself instead of my tall, strapping, handsome husband…" She laughed again quietly as he snorted into her hair.

"As if I would allow that to happen…" Gawain laughed quietly into her dark strands before pausing to watch the boys. His brow furrowed when he counted only four; he felt her tap upon his thigh and followed her eyes as they watched their youngest, Agravaine, retreat from the bustling pile of his brothers to lean against a wall with his arms wrapped around his knees. His chin landed upon his knees and his brow furrowed deeply before the boy hid his face against his thighs, his body awash with tremors. Gawain tightened his grip upon his wife and shook his head, quietly admonishing her when she attempted to rise and go to their son. "Leave him be…he is fine…if he were hurt or sick you would know…"

Áine sighed and gave in with a shake of her head. "How can you be so certain? He is young…there could be anything wrong…" She stopped when Gawain leaned to the side and gawked at her. "Have you forgotten the last time no one heeded his words that he felt ill? Not even Dagonet believed and, well, we all know how that ended…" She shook her head as she recalled the little boy insisting his stomach felt ill but Dagonet trying to foist the medicine upon him nevertheless…that was, until Agravaine had puked – on Dag, on the medicine, on the floor… Áine watched the small boy pensively until she heard Gawain's chortle.

"Aye, I recall that. But I can assure you that tis not the case this eve, love." He shook his head and laughed. "Oh my dearest…you never met the real one but I can assure you that truly…truly and without a doubt that little boy is his namesake all over again... May the gods have mercy upon us all." Gawain pointed to the dark haired child with a snort and shake of his head. "I know wounded pride when I spy it. He is fierce and loyal and moody and stubborn and…"

"And you would have him no other way…" She watched as Gawain shook his head then nodded with a growl of agreement. "Just as you would not change a thing about any of them…" She nodded toward the tangle of limbs with a sigh as she wondered just how many of them she would be pushing toward Dagonet's home tomorrow with various bruises and scrapes for the healer to tend.

"Well…perhaps…a few…" Gawain studied the pile and scratched at his beard, trying to discern what limbs belong to what child before he laughed when Áine's elbow found his ribs. "You are correct…I would nay change any of them." He leaned in closer and kissed her neck tenderly. "Nor would I change their mother."

"Are you certain? Because as I recall, you demonstrated your gifts from the gods to many a wench on plenty of nights…"

"Aye…then I met you and they have been your gifts to enjoy since…" Gawain growled in her ear, delighting in the fact that, even after all these years and this handful of boys, it still made her shiver and, if his hearing was correct, that was a soft moan caught in her throat. Deciding to test his theory, Gawain shifted and brushed his hand along the underside of his wife's breasts while he kissed the tender flesh at the hollow where her neck met her shoulder. He felt her hand dig into his thigh and he chuckled against her skin while he pulled his hand back along the same path, noting this time she shifted and gasped before lifting her shoulder in an attempt to evict his lips from the space.

"Gawain!" Her voice was a commanding whisper. "Stop that this instant…the boys are…flailing about and…that was exactly how I ended up with child the last time…"

"Well I am certain there was far more involved that simply this…" Gawain paused and again repeated the sweep of his hand and kisses, this time biting back a laugh when Áine smacked his thigh and hissed under her breath for him to behave.

"There will be time for that later…my slave…" She cleared her throat and nudged him with her elbow before nodding toward the pile of boys that was slowly losing participants.

Gawain rolled his eyes and silently cursed his children's poor timing as he reluctantly released her and rose from the chair. Heading toward the bodies strewn about on the lawn, he stopped abruptly when he felt the stinging smack upon his ass. Turning, he looked over his shoulder at his blushing wife who mouthed that she never could resist his gods-given gifts with a wink and giggle. Shaking his head with a laugh and snort, Gawain turned his attention back to the boys laid out in various positions as they panted and quietly argued about who had emerged the victor.

"Well…who claims the bragging rights of victory this fine eve?" Gawain walked through and surveyed the boys, laughing as each one raised a hand. Looking over at his wife, he noted that she shrugged and shook her head; he glanced toward Agravaine and shook his head noting that the youngster had given up sulking and was curled up, sleeping. With a shake of his head, Gawain smirked. "Well that tis a good thing that we have so many victors… That your mother and I have bred such fine, strong and hardy boys…since I will need much assistance on the morrow with chores… There is wood to be chopped and stacked and rotated for drying and straw to be brought down so that stalls can be cleaned, which will need to be done as well…" Gawain noted as he listed the various tasks, the hands dropped and they began to poke and prod each other, noting that this one or that one had been by far the superior and so best suited to helping their father.

Áine stood and stretched her back, smiling and laughing softly as she listened to the boys try their darndest to finagle out of chores before she spoke. "Well…if they are uncertain they are up to the tasks you have, they could sleep in a bit on the morrow and then assist me… After all, I could always use extra hands to help with the washing and mending and cooking…" She bit back a laugh as four heads shot up and eyes fixed upon her before they all scrambled to be first off the ground, assuring their father that they would be up early and ready to assist him in whatever way they could but right at this moment they needed to get to bed and sleep as sunrise would come soon.

Gawain shook his head as he watched them falling over each other in their haste to get inside and to bed. He chuckled as the eldest two, Uwaine and Bedwyr, stopped to attempt to wake Agravaine before they traded an exasperated look at the youth's stubborn insistence to be left alone and simply grabbed an arm each; hoisting him between them, they half-dragged and half-carried their youngest brother inside. Laughing quietly, he walked over to his wife and planted a soft kiss upon her head.

"You are terrible…threatening them like that…"

"Truly? I thought it was rather brilliant…"

"Brilliant but terrible…"

"Aye…I am quite terrible indeed. Thankfully you have all night to make me regret how terrible I have been to our beloved children…" Áine stood on her tiptoes and grabbed his tunic tightly before kissing him softly after each word. "All…night…my slave…" She laughed and winked as she let go and quickly made a dash for the house with her husband on her heels.


	2. Gareth

**Disclaimer:** I am not making anything off this.

**A/N: **This one is from a non-movie member of my crew of characters. I wasn't (and still am not) quite sure what to make of it as it caught me quite off-guard.

* * *

Gareth sat in the stall absentmindedly picking at the straw bedding as his mind raced though he tried his damndest to calm it. Hazel eyes closed in concentration and he smiled slightly. There it was – the feeling of her hands upon him…the scent of her surrounding him… That had been quite a few cycles of the moon ago, back when leaves had been falling and the cold had been setting in. Now it rained relentlessly and trees were beginning to bud, but Gareth found that if he focused and calmed his mind he could recall it as though it had just been last night…

_Gareth had stopped for the night and made a cold camp since he was still a fair distance from the fort proper and he did not want to find out if the reports of Woad activity were accurate or just more paranoid Roman bullshit. He knew it was not the best idea but his ass had gone from sore to numb with the long ride from the Roman estate. Damnit, didn't anyone know he was a Knight, not a stupid messenger? Wasn't that Mouse's job? Snorting quietly, he shook his head and mumbled unflattering words about his scrawny rodent of a brother Knight while digging in his saddlebags for some sort of dinner. Sighing, he pulled out the few strips of dried meat and pieces of rock-hard bread that the kitchen had so kindly packed for him. Shaking his head again, more quiet curses dropped from his lips; about the stupid assed Romans…and this island…and its inhabitants… _

_Suddenly, Gareth ceased muttering and narrowed his eyes, tilting his head from side to side as he attempted to locate the source of the sound that had cut short his tirade. He listened harder and his brow furrowed. Whoever, or whatever, it was seemed unconcerned about being overheard rustling about in the woods…which did not give him a good feeling in the pit of his stomach. Usually that meant it was either someone or something very large…and very dangerous… Finally locating the source of the noise as coming from a small cluster of shrubs no more than a stone's throw to his right, Gareth adjusted his daggers and patted his horse, quietly commanding the animal to remain silent. _

_Using the moonlight to plot out a path, Gareth moved soundlessly through the grass and leaves toward the source of the disturbance. Nearing the spot, his hands curled around the handles of his daggers as by the sounds he now knew it was not something, but rather someone that lurked in the undergrowth. And, if he had to take a guess, that someone was not one of his brethren. But still – it puzzled him that a Woad would be so loud, so careless, this close to a path that was a known by-way for all things and people Roman – and Sarmatian. _

_Gareth's brow furrowed deeper as he drew closer and was able to hear that not only was the Woad rustling around in the leaves that were beginning to cover the grass, but was – well – singing very, very softly. Pausing, Gareth inhaled deeply and listened to the melodic voice singing words that he did not understand to a tune that was just as foreign…but yet somehow oddly familiar. He felt the tension begin to release from his shoulders; felt his stomach begin to un-knot…and just as quickly he snapped himself back to the situation at hand, reminding himself where he was and that every Woad was a danger. _

_Straightening his back, Gareth stood to his full height to peer over the tallest shrub. He squelched the scream but jumped back when he looked down and straight into the pale, upturned and equally startled face of the Woad. His boot slipped on the grass and he found himself on his ass staring up at the small, slender Woad woman that appeared from around the bush. Breathing hard, Gareth had wanted to grab his daggers – to let her know that he was not to be trifled with despite being on his ass after having been spooked – but something in the way she stood there, staring at him with wide-eyes…_

_They had appraised each other silently in the light from the nearly full moon, but it had not been adversarial. No…it had been curiosity that fueled their inspection of each other. Gareth had remained on his ass, his knees bent while his feet and hands were flat on the ground. For her part, the Woad had moved a few steps closer to peer at him…then the same amount back…before coming closer again. She had spoken in her language and Gareth had shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, blonde strands swishing around his face and over his shoulders. He had tensed when that caused her to reach forward; his breath held until he realized from the way she ran her hand over his hair that had been all she wanted to do – touch his hair – before they went back to studying each other. He wondered who she was; it was plainly obvious that she was not a warrior, but who exactly was she? Gareth was still pondering this as he watched her sink to her knees. Her small hands rested upon his knees and he could feel the warmth from them seep through the leather. She spoke again and he bit his upper lip, shaking his head again and shrugging. _

"_I do not understand…" He whispered and watched as her brow furrowed at the strange sounds. Sighing he realized that this was not a Woad who had regular contact with anyone outside her tribe. But again he found the question nagging in his mind – what or who was she? There was still a very slight possibility that she was a warrior toying with him before she intended to slit his throat, but somehow that just did not sit right in Gareth's gut…and what was Bedwyr always yapping on about to him about trusting his gut…?_

_He watched as she smiled gently, then squeezed his knees and stood. She turned and walked toward the shrubs before turning back to him with another gentle, inviting smile and inclination of her head then disappeared back to where he had first spotted her. Before Gareth could give it a second thought, he had gotten to his feet, his curiosity rising and feeling as though, well, this Woad woman wanted him to follow for whatever reason, though he felt reasonably certain it was not to kill him. He stepped around the bush and spotted her squatting next to some small leather pouches. Getting closer, he noticed symbols scrawled in the dirt and snorted softly. Of course… Snorting softly again, Gareth pieced it all together: she was either a healer or a priestess out gathering various herbs. The near full moon would have brought her out because, as Gareth knew from their own healers and priestesses, there were certain plants that one only gathered during a full moon. It would also explain her lack of stealth as well as her lack of fear._

_Gazing down at her, Gareth found himself studying this Woad who had no fear of him…who did not seem to know (or care) that he was a Sarmatian Knight and responsible for spilling the blood of so many of her people. She was dark haired and slender with gentle dark eyes and that smile…that was what had gotten Gareth's attention. It was brimming with warmth and caring…much like he was beginning to imagine her soul to be._

_Squatting down next to her, he brushed his hand over her shoulder and smiled as her face turned to his, that same smile filling her lips. _

"_I know you do not understand me…just as I do not understand you…" He spoke quietly as he watched her brow knit in confusion at the strange sounds. Chuckling softly, he shook his head but before he could speak again, he felt her fingers upon his lips silencing his words. His eyes followed hers up through the tree canopy that dwindled along with the Autumn days. The nights were clearer and becoming crisper, heralding the approach of Winter – cold and snow and bluster would soon keep everyone hunkered nearer to fires. _

_Gareth did not know where the urge had come from, only that in one moment he had been thinking of the changing seasons and the next he had been kissing her. He pulled away and swallowed hard as he awaited her response. His eyes shut when he felt her hands in his hair and he wished to all the gods he knew that he understood what she whispered into his ear before she had begun kissing his cheek and jaw. _

Gareth smiled ruefully as his head fell back against the solid wood of the stall. He remembered how the lack of understanding each other's language had no longer mattered. They had not needed words; their desire for each other had provided all the communication necessary. He smiled again as he recalled the hours they had spent together, tangled and breathless. He remembered whispering at one point how he wished they could spend many nights like this – how he would spend every night of his life like this if the gods would allow… He knew it had been well into the wee hours of the morn when they had fallen asleep. Closing his eyes, Gareth flexed his left arm, still able to feel the weight of her resting there; he inhaled deeply and again his mind filled his nostrils with her scent – earthy and woodsy and a mix of some herbs that he had not yet been able to identify.

When he'd woken at sunrise, she had been gone. He'd been surprised and even confused that this woman who had been so noisy the night before had been able to slip off, disappear into the woods without a sound and without waking him.

And that had been the last he had seen of her. He'd held his breath every time they'd encountered the remnants of a Woad encampment, part of him hoping to at least glimpse her…and part of him hoping she was long gone, as otherwise… In truth, he did not know what the 'otherwise' entailed nor was he certain he wanted to have to figure it out. No, all Gareth knew with every fibre of his being was that he could not…would not…ever let his brethren or the Romans harm her. Likewise with every battlefield; he knew he would not let harm come to her even if he was unsure just how far he would go to ensure her safety.

Hearing his brother calling his name, Gareth closed his eyes and let out a sigh of a prayer to whatever god or goddess might be listening to protect and watch over the small and beautiful and warm Woad with whom he had shared a night. Getting to his feet, Gareth stretched his back and waited patiently knowing that his twin would shortly be in range…wordlessly Gareth crept toward the front of the stall and, when Gaheris was indeed close enough, he pounced. Tackling his brother with a shout, Gareth just as quickly regained his feet and dashed toward the entry to the stables as his twin lay sprawled on the floor, shouting curses in Sarmatian and Latin at the back of his fleeing brother…


	3. Mordred

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize it from the movie, it isn't mine and I am just borrowing it. Anything else is strictly mine.

**A/N:** Another one from a non-movie…and another one that surprised me but this one because he managed to keep it relatively clean. I should also point out that for this particular snippet, Arthur is not the Commanding Officer of the Sarmatian Knights.

* * *

Mordred stood a fair distance from the small abode with his hands on his hips, alternately shaking his long curls at the house (really, the woman within) and cursing the same said woman for ruining his trip to the vineyard estate of Antonius.

The hand-selected group of Knights had gone there so Olcinius, their Commanding Officer, could take care of things that needed taking care of, in his own words. And so that Antonius could go survey his vineyards. Mordred snorted and rolled his eyes knowing full well that one of the "things" Olcinius had been so anxious to "take care of" was Antonius' wife, Claudia. The whole scenario honestly made Mordred's head hurt. Somehow, Claudia had convinced her stupid Roman husband that the only way he ought to travel to the furthest reaches of his estate was with a full guard of Sarmatian Knights – because she was worried about his safety, of course...and that said venture should occur at least every other month during growing season and, during harvest…well, he ought to stay a bit longer and oversee that process for some unfathomable reason. Naturally, for his own safety during the extended stay at harvest, his wife suggested that the aforementioned guard of Knights remain there as well. Of course, Antonius agreed because it meant he could spend time with his other family – the non-Roman one. Somewhere among all this was worked in that the only Roman qualified or trustworthy enough to oversee the household of Antonius in his absence was a Roman Commanding Officer. Which, conveniently, Olcinius was.

Blue eyes squeezed shut and Mordred massaged his temples with his fingers feeling the first twinges of a headache start as he tried to sort who belonged to whom and when and why… Letting out a combination of a sigh and yell of frustration, Mordred kicked the ground before shaking his fist at the house. The trip had not been the problem. The trip itself was never a problem. In fact, the Knights were usually eager to be selected to accompany their CO since it meant, for all intents and purposes, a vacation. Of course, only the ones that Olcinius knew could keep their yaps shut got invited…which left a decent portion of the brotherhood at the fort. And since he was usually part of the group that went, that was not the problem either. Oh no…the problem had occurred shortly before they left to return to the fort. Antonius had returned and brought a few of the field hands back with him. Among them happened to have been a set of twins – female twins. Female twins who had tanned flesh and dark eyes and bodies that had made everyone sit up and take notice. More to the point, they had been female twins interested in doing all sorts of things with and to him… A smile curved Dred's lips as he recalled the way they had been all over him, kissing and licking, nipping and teasing with their teeth and tongues. He hadn't understood their words, but there had been no mistaking their intentions toward him. None at all. And things had been going well…for him and for the ladies…until her image had come, unbidden, to his mind.

"Jules…" He hissed her name under his breath and snarled at the house. How dare she come between him and the twins.

Unfortunately, once Jules had invaded his mind, Mordred had been unable to get rid of her and had instead ended up bidding the twins a good night. He'd found out the next day that they'd spent the night with his baby brother, Agravaine, from the grin the younger had sported…and the appreciation the younger voiced to him for showing them the door. Mordred recalled the glare he'd given his brother and the mumbled desire for his brother to shut his godsdamn trap, which had only prompted Agravaine to lean over the table with a wink and assure him that he would make certain the ladies had another lovely evening in his company before the group departed… Mordred sighed and clenched his fists recalling that the following morn had seen the Knights departing for the fort – and that among their ranks had been an exceptionally worn Agravaine. Clenching his jaw so tight his teeth squeaked, Mordred recalled his brother taunting him, proclaiming loudly over and over how he was utterly and completely exhausted as he had made a show of stretching and yawning. Dred recalled leaning toward his brother's horse and snarling that he truly hoped that Agravaine had indeed enjoyed himself…and his brother's smirking response that indeed he had, just as he truly hoped that Mordred had enjoyed cuddling up with himself. Things after that were a blur to Mordred though he did remember leaping from his horse toward Agravaine…and the two of them hitting the ground…but after that there was nothing until just a few moments ago. Shaking his head again he supposed he ought to go check on the big oaf he called a brother but Mordred just couldn't tear himself away…

This wasn't the first time thoughts of Jules had ruined his ability to…perform. Oh, no. There had been the new serving wench at the tavern who had longed to find out just how comfortable his lap was. Then there was the daughter of the Roman politico in Londinium who had been aching to find out about the rumoured gifts that the gods had been bestowed upon Sarmatian men. Not to mention the countless other women that he was positive could be his for the taking if he could just stop thinking about her.

Her. Jules. His wife. His lover. If he was being completely honest, he'd have to admit there was no other woman he truly wanted or desired. At least not that he wanted for anything more than a romp upon some furs. He snorted a laugh as memories came back to him.

She was so damn beautiful. Tall – taller than any other woman he'd met here, she could easily rest her chin upon his shoulder…and her red-blonde hair hung in ringlets similar to his…green eyes and curves in all the best places to go along with what he'd found out were incredibly, impossibly long legs… Biting back a groan, Mordred recalled when he'd finally found the balls to talk to her…and she'd told him to move his ass because it was blocking her view. He'd spun around and noted that the only one of his fellow Knights in the vicinity had been Sagremor…and silently he'd prayed that it was indeed Sagremor she was focused on and not the sweaty, fat, oily, Roman merchant…

Jules, like the rest, had been taken by Sagremor's good looks and charming personality – a skin that Mordred knew only barely covered the snake Sagremor was beneath. Mordred, on the other hand, knew that despite being blessed with fairly good looks, all too often he came across as abrasive and, well, just plain cruel. Ducking his head, he shook it as he wondered how Jules had eventually not only seen through Sagremor's façade but also past his…

He started when he felt her hands slip over his shoulders and her warm breath on the exposed skin of his neck.

"Standing out here being all pissy for a reason? Or just because you can?" Jules laughed lightly and shook her head. She'd been waiting upon his return and seen him stop short of their home; by his gestures and the way he ranted to himself, she had guessed the trip had not gone well and so she let him have his time. She knew Mordred well and knew that sometimes alone time was the best time she could give him.

"If you must know, I am pissy about you." He straightened his back, turning his head slightly so one blue eye could look over the top of his shoulder at Jules, meeting a green eye of the only slightly shorter woman. He noted the confusion in that eye and silently congratulated himself on finally being one up on her.

"Me? Whatever have I done?"

"You are…" He paused before stepping away so he could turn and face her. "You just…you are Jules and you are...well…Jules." He shrugged not certain what he wanted to say anymore so he simply settled for glaring.

She watched as thick arms folded over his broad chest while she tried to sort his words out. He was Mordred and she knew with that came a very contradictory personality. At times he could be wonderfully sweet and loving…and others, well, he could be the worst of the worst. It strictly depended upon the situation…and day…and position of the sun (or moon)…and which way the wind was blowing…and countless other intangibles as to which Mordred you would get.

"Mordred…"

"No."

Jules sighed and stared pensively at the Knight before her. He was in an exceptional mood and she wondered which of his brethren she ought to thank for this. And, more to the point, how she had gotten dragged into any of this at all when she had been nowhere near that stupid vineyard.

"Fine then." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared back at him, noting he shifted his weight and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. If that was how he wanted to be – how he wanted his homecoming to be, then that was fine indeed. "When you decide to be done, you know where we live." Long red-blonde ringlets bobbed as she nodded curtly then spun around and trekked back to their small home, cursing under her breath the whole way before turning to glare at him once more from the doorway just before she slammed the door.

She had cursed him and his parents and his brother and even his horse, though she knew the last made absolutely no sense. He just made her so unbelievably mad some days. His tunics that she had been mending were scooped up and heaved into a corner; she had briefly contemplated tossing them into the fire but reminded herself that would only ultimately make more godsdamned work for her. For good measure she lashed out with her foot after them, imagining she was booting him right in his godsdamn ass…which, unwittingly, she also yelled.

"Kick me in my ass will you?"

Jules spun, pushing the ringlets out of her eyes and face as she glared at Mordred leaning against the door. "You know I would." She watched his eyebrow rise but also knew that he knew better than to offer her the opportunity. "You are being…a jerk."

Mordred sighed heavily and shrugged before lowering his head and whispering. "I know I am."

Her words faltered and died, as did her anger. Whenever Mordred was able to admit that he was at fault, it had the same effect as a bucket of water tossed upon a fire, no matter who he had pissed off or how angry they were with him. She'd seen him use that to his advantage amongst his brethren or the Romans, but by the tone of his voice, Jules knew that this time it was entirely sincere. Now she just had to keep herself from straying into pitying Mordred because that was something he absolutely would not tolerate and it would only serve to reignite his fury…though she was still very confused about what had happened and how she was to blame…

He had watched her go – retreat to their home and slam the door. Admittedly, at first that had fed his anger even more, gone a long way toward convincing him he ought to just go find a wench and do…something… Then he had recalled pissing and moaning to Bedwyr early on about Jules and the effect she was having on him. And the cocked eyebrow and knowing look from Beds…along with the advice that Mordred either cut her loose (and not be jealous when she was no longer available at his whim) or he suck it up and learn to keep it tucked into his leathers – even when it ached and begged to be released. Not that Beds was the shining example of being able to keep one's breeches laced, but Mordred had to admit that the only reason he'd sought out Beds' advice was because he needed to hear someone say the words…to tell him what he had already known. That he loved Jules and only Jules and his gifted parts were just going to have to cope with it.

"Will you tell me what happened? I swear, Mordred, I do not know what I did…"

"Twins. All tongues and tits and…" Mordred responded blandly and shrugged while continuing to study his boots.

"Oh. I see. They wanted you and you could not…because of me…?" Jules gnawed at her bottom lip to hide her amusement while she watched him nod. She knew he was miserable – both for missing out and for having come so close to straying, though she knew he would never ever admit to the last reason. "I never said…"

"No, no you have not…but I recall very clearly that when Vivi had it out with Beds in front of everyone about who had been unlacing his breeches …that you did not appreciate the spectacle. You do not enjoy or participate in gossip and I would not subject you…would not bring such a thing to our doorstep." Mordred gestured around and sighed.

Jules shook her head and crossed the room to stand next to him. One hand rested upon a thick shoulder and the other gripped his chin, turning his face toward hers. "Some things people do not need to know and that was one of them." She snorted and shook her head again. "Especially…" She paused and shook her head. "But I never said you could not…" She slid a finger over his lips when she heard him start to protest and continued in a very soft voice. "Shhh…I know I have a handsome husband, even if he is slightly crazy, and there are many women who would wish to have him in their bed. I am no fool. And if you will recall, the last thing I said was that if you did stray, you should warn them to keep their mouths shut about it all…because if they bring it to my doorstep, it will be the last thing they ever do." Jules leaned in and kissed his temple softly before letting go of him and heading toward the pile of tunics she had discarded, smirking as she went because she had learned long ago that given the freedom to choose, Mordred would always do just as he had at the estate.

Blue eyes closed as he listened to her and a small smile touched his lips when she kissed him and then let go. Godsdamn, he loved this woman more every single damn moment of every single damn day. With a wolf grin, Mordred pushed off the door and strode across the room, grabbing his wife while hissing into her ear about tongues and tits and long legs made for wrapping around his waist as he pulled her toward their bed.


	4. Galahad

**Disclaimer:** Movie is not mine. Not making anything off this.

**A/N:** Back to a movie Knight. A typical Galahad chapter: kind of on-topic but kind of not. I don't argue. I'm just the scribe.

* * *

Galahad stopped on the stone path that led to his front door. His front door. The words registered in his mind while he stared at the ornate piece of wood that formed the barrier between this world and his home. Home. There was another word that only a scant few years ago he would have never associated with anything on this island. That had changed though – and changed quickly.

First had been the news that Rome was choosing to abandon their continued pursuit of the island. Galahad snorted now just as he had then. Of course Rome had made it sound as though it was their choice – that they were deeming this venture unworthy of their attention any longer…because the great Empire would never concede defeat; would never openly acknowledge that the Woads had worn them down. And even more than that, the mighty Roman Empire would never, ever admit that the rumours of an impending Saxon incursion had their sandals more than a little rattled.

Then there had been the last mission assigned to the last group of Sarmatian Knights. Stupid bloody Romans. Galahad still could not fathom why you would let someone that the Empire believed so important, supposedly so vital for whatever reason – why, by all the gods above and below – why would you let that person move to the furthest corner of your stupid Empire anyway? That simply made no sense at all. But the Romans had. The pope's only nephew or favourite nephew or whatever the boy had been because, really, Galahad just could not bring himself to care to recall, had needed to be escorted from his father's estate to the port and then on to Rome. Galahad paused and shook his head. That had been the Knights' first encounter with the Saxon horde and it had not gone well. The Knights had not lost, but they had not been able to claim victory either. Instead they had settled for knowing they had merely bought some time for the island to be evacuated. Then…then…of all the things that had to happen, Arthur had gone and really and truly pissed Galahad off by declaring his intent to stay on the island and fight the Saxons alongside the Woads.

Sighing, Galahad's mind drifted back to that whole mess. His stuff had been packed and stored on a cart; he had been on his horse and ready to leave this godsforsaken land behind for the plains of home… Then it had all gone to shit. Arthur saluting them from the hill; the sound of the war drums…godsdamn Tristan – if his ass would have just stayed on his horse… Galahad shook his head again and knew that was not at all true. If it hadn't been Tris it would have been someone else grabbing their weapons and challenging the others to do likewise. And so they had all stayed – suited up in their heaviest armour and, ironically, found themselves fighting alongside the very people they had been slaughtering under Arthur's command. It was under those circumstances that the last group of Sarmatian Knights on the isle of Britain made their ancestors proud.

And now here they all were. Living in relative peace with the Woads on an island most of them had been eager to leave, in houses and on estates they had secretly coveted throughout their service. Once Arthur was married and declared King, his first proclamation had been around the Knights who had supported him tirelessly…his brothers who would have laid their lives down in his defense… He had granted them the estate of their choosing – if they so desired; the two stipulations were that they remain within a reasonable riding distance of the fort and take an oath of loyalty – one that would bind their lives, freely this time, to his vision of how things could be. Galahad smiled as he recalled how none of his brethren had hesitated to step forward and offer their fealty to the new King.

Approaching the heavy door, Galahad swung it open and paused upon the step with closed eyes and a deep breath before stepping inside. Turning, he cast one final glance at the dark and chill, then shut the door and turned inward, to the soft, warm glow that was his home. The one rule of the house was that no Knightly business, no troubles from that world, were allowed to pass over the threshold. Lia had made that rule and she strictly enforced it – with him, with his brethren and even with Arthur himself. Many a day had someone sought conversation and many a day had they faced the tightly crossed arms and disapproving scowl of his wife. Galahad chortled as he recalled only a few days ago when Dagonet had, under the guise of simply stopping by to see how Lia was feeling, brought up the latest go-round with some of the more unruly Woad tribes… He could not recall the last time the giant healer had shifted and looked as uncomfortable as he had when Lia had fixed him with her stare. After only a few moments Dag had ended up mumbling something about speaking with Galahad later before wishing Lia well, telling her to send for him if she so needed anything before he had hurriedly fled.

Making his way through the halls, Galahad let his mind wander back to how it was that this had become home. Initially, Galahad had not chosen an estate because he had still been unsure of whether or not he had truly wanted to stay. He had taken the oath but he also knew Arthur would not hold it against him if he turned around one day and simply said he wanted to leave for Sarmatia. And he had contemplated it many times. Most especially after Gawain had met his wife and they had proceeded to sicken everyone around them between their proclamations of love and their inability to keep their hands, lips, and tongues off each other… Galahad had sworn if he had heard Áine refer to Gawain one more time as her "great protector/champion/Knight" or refer to Gawain's gifts from the gods he was going to scream. He'd finally confronted Gawain and after a bit of an argument and a few punches, things had settled down – both between Gawain and Áine, as well as between Galahad, Gawain and Áine. It had been shortly after that Áine had, in fact, introduced him to Lia. That had been the point Galahad realized he needed a home and selected this estate. It was one of the smaller estates, but he had not cared and neither had Lia. It had become their home and now he would not trade it for all the grass upon the plains of Sarmatia.

Stopping in the doorway of their bedroom, Galahad fixed his gaze on the nearly naked woman curled upon their bed, a fur haphazardly draped over her legs. Liadan. Lia. His wife. His love. The single most amazing person he knew and the sole reason Galahad had found for remaining here. Well – the sole reason for now at least. He smiled when, as if on cue, Lia rolled over onto her back; her arms flopped heavily on either side of her and her legs kicked the fur away as they spread wide. Had it been any other time, Galahad would have capitalized on her position but not tonight. No…right now he knew it was only a quest for a comfortable position to sleep in as well as some sort of coolness that had his wife splayed across their bed…and, as he had come to know in the past few weeks, it was a futile effort on her part. He remained silent in the doorway, watching as small hands came up to rest atop the still growing bump that barely protruded through the thin chemise. It was difficult to believe that, by all estimates, within the next three cycles of the moon he would be a father. Lia was small in comparison to most and so her belly barely showed – which had made Vanora furious as she was yet again pregnant and, in her own words, so big she made Bors look slim.

Shaking dark curls, Galahad crossed his arms and his head against the frame as admired his wife. He could never thank Áine enough for nudging him to go talk to Lia; actually, more like just about dragged him across the tavern floor to introduce him to her, but given how things had turned out, Galahad found he could live with that. He'd been quite surprised after he'd begun talking to Lia to find out that her father had served as a Sarmatian Knight…as had her mother's father… So that had made Lia as close to being a full-fledged Sarmatian woman as Galahad knew he would find and he wasn't quite certain why, but knowing that gave him an even deeper sense of home – as though somehow a piece of Sarmatia had been placed upon this island and saved just for him.

Galahad smiled when he heard her start to sing softly as her hands caressed her stomach, seeking to soothe the restlessness of the babe within. Drawn to her melodic words and the peaceful images they created, Galahad swiftly shed his clothes and slipped onto the bed; lacing his fingers with hers, they traced comforting patterns across her warm flesh. His forehead rested among long, dark strands and he picked up the song, singing along very softly until sleep came to all three.


	5. Tristan

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. Making nothing.

**A/N:** I want to point out again that they are dictating who is in each story. That being said, they also control where in the timeline this takes place – hopefully as you read the placement in time becomes clear. Also it means that none of these are tied to each other unless specifically referenced as such. On a final note, the idea for this rose out of a conversation many years ago with the amazing writer and even more brilliant person, HeyiyaIf, as she penned her fic _"The heart we have, that is also flesh"_ – which I highly recommend reading. This has twisted and turned and undergone many revisions. I am convinced it could be an entire story unto itself but finally settled into this short that I hope makes sense.

* * *

Tristan watched the Lady Iseult as she rose to speak to the assembly. He noted that everyone's attention focused upon her, every eye studied her…well, every eye except two. Tris felt the gaze of his brother upon him as he turned and blandly returned Bedwyr's stare. He would not show it but he was surprised that there was no emotion – at least none that he could read – behind the stare of the old goat. Tris followed as Beds' eyes traveled from Tristan's to the visible bulge just below Iseult's waist and then back to Tristan's golden orbs. And Tristan knew he did not need to acknowledge; there was no question being posed. No, it was a statement by Bedwyr that he indeed knew the child that harboured in the Lady's stomach did not belong to her Roman husband…no, Bedwyr knew the child was of Sarmatian blood. And, more specifically, that he knew the child was of Tristan's loins.

Dropping his head so his hair hid his face, Tristan studied the table before closing his eyes and letting his mind drift back to Londinium many months ago…

_Tristan started slightly when he felt the hand grab the neck of his tunic; he had no time to react before he was shoved into the small bedroom and the door slammed shut behind. Turning, he prepared to confront his assailant only to find Bedwyr leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his chest and a no-nonsense look upon his face. _

"_Beds…what...?" Tris tilted his head but got no further in his inquiry._

"_Shut your godsdamned mouth and listen. And I mean listen well because I am only going to say this to you once." Beds spoke quietly but sternly as he pushed off the door and closed the gap between himself and the Scout. "I would highly suggest that you get an urgent behest from Arthur that requires you to depart Londinium for somewhere else and do so immediately, if not sooner." _

_Shaggy locks shook as Tristan's eyes narrowed. "I do not understand… I was sent here as part of the diplomatic contingent…" _

"_Then allow me to make it clearer. It has been noted – by me, by Kay, and by some other non-Sarmatian persons – that since the Lady Iseult came here from Hibernia that a certain Scout has, without fail, been part of every godsdamn diplomatic contingent to grace Londinium's doorstep. And it is arousing suspicion since said Scout adds nothing to the conversations – just sits like a statue or looms from the shadows." Beds fixed green eyes upon the slightly shorter Knight and studied him. "Does that make it any clearer?"_

"_If the godsdamn Romans have an issue with my presence, let them take it up with Arthur." Tristan shrugged and attempted to shoulder past the bulkier Knight, only to be caught around his upper arm and shoved back._

"_Alright. Then let me be as clear as I can possibly be. Stay away from Iseult. Far away. The gossip is that you and she have been carrying on a little tryst…behind her husband's back…in his bed, no less… And since you are being particularly stupid this eve, let me go further and tell you that there is far too much at stake with these negotiations for me to keep looking the other way. I swear by the gods above and below, Tristan, I am not going to let your need to have your cock sucked or fucked or both jeopardize us getting Marcus' pledge of support." Beds leaned in and spoke very quietly because he knew well that even though this was a small, empty room this was Londinium and the chances of the walls having ears was always present. _

_Tristan stepped away and studied his brother. He knew Bedwyr and knew the man did not make empty threats; if Beds was bringing this up then his sources were either telling him directly or dropping unmistakable hints that there was suspicion… _

"_I cannot…"_

"_Then leave, Tristan." _

"_It is not that simple, Bedwyr. You know this…"_

"_No, I do not. If you cannot manage to keep your cock in your leathers around her then do not be near her. Leave and do not come back. It is that simple, Tristan. Because if you get caught it is not only you who will pay the price…these negotiations will die and, believe me, Marcus will make certain that Hibernia is aware of her betrayal…"_

"_Her people would back her."_

"_Are you certain?" Beds continued to gaze unflinchingly at the Scout who shifted his weight as Beds' eyes bore into him. "Because if you have learned one thing about negotiation as you sat through these endless meetings, I would hope you learned that it is all about advantage. Getting it, keeping it, or maximizing it. So let me ask you this – what advantage does backing her gain her people versus what advantage they gain by standing with Marcus? Who is going to provide a better advantage with the increasing boldness of the Saxons, hmmm? Will it be a daughter of Hibernia and her Sarmatian lover or will it be a Roman governor with legions at his disposal? I know who I would choose…and I would be willing to wager the Kings of Hibernia would choose similarly…as would you if you set aside your emotions and looked at it…"_

"_That is just it, Bedwyr…I cannot." Tristan's golden eyes looked deeply into his brother's green. He could not make his brother understand what he himself was not certain he understood. He knew he could not leave her; could not let her go. She was warmth and strength and compassion and yet there was a cold steel within her soul…all things he could relate to and all things he found he yearned for. Tristan whispered his next words. "I love her." _

_Bedwyr let out a deep sigh and stepped back as he shook his head and bit his lower lip. This was precisely what he had hoped would not be said but deep down, he had known it was the only possible explanation. He couldn't help himself and snapped. "Godsdamn you Tristan. Gods fucking damn you. Why can you not be content to spread the legs of some tavern wench…or a seamstress…or I do not know, some servant girl? Why does it have to be her?" _

"_Because it does." _

And with that simple, concise utterance, everything had changed. Tristan recalled Bedwyr's tight lips and nod before he had turned and left the room, knowing that Tristan's mind was made up and there was no changing it. Tristan snorted quietly; he could not change it even if he wished it to be so – which he did not. Truer words he had never spoken than when he uttered those words to Bedwyr – that he loved Iseult and that it had to be her simply because it had to be.

His attention came back to the present when he heard Arthur speaking – telling everyone that perhaps a small afternoon respite was in order. Glancing to his left, Tristan caught her gaze. They read each other's minds and agreed in the mere seconds before she tore her eyes from his and instead gave Arthur her smile and nod of approval. She rose and accepted Dagonet's hand as well as the burly healer's quietly rumbled offer to escort her back to her chambers. Tristan watched them depart and waited until the room emptied. He did not need to worry about his brothers waiting on him or attempting to speak with him – most thought him a poor conversationalist and those who knew differently…well…after Londinium and now with Iseult's appearance, those particular brethren were no longer speaking to him. Rising and stretching his back, Tristan glanced toward the hall before deciding that after all that sitting and pretending to listen to the political drivel he would take the long route to Iseult's chambers.


	6. Arthur

**Disclaimer:** Making absolutely nothing.

**A/N: **They're talking so I'm scribing. There's no set formula for these. They're in control of how it comes out.

* * *

Arthur sat at the round table, his hands folded and his head bowed over some important paper or another. The various documents were spread out all around him in an array that only made sense to the man who had opened and scattered them. Some might have thought he was praying for guidance on how to proceed on a delicate matter. Others might have figured he was deep in thought over a complex problem. They would all be wrong. Arthur Castus, former Roman Commander and current King of Britain was sleeping. The round table room after a briefing was, honestly, the only place he could snatch a few moments of uninterrupted peace. His Knights would not tread here – not after hours of briefing; they would be off to the tavern or to their homes and families.

Suddenly his head dropped just a bit too far; the soft snore turned into a loud snort and his eyes popped open as he looked around wildly, hoping that no one was present to notice his less than king-ly moment. Clearing his throat, Arthur smoothed his tunic and wiped his chin all the while continuing to look around to make certain no one was watching from the shadows. Finally satisfied that he was alone, he ran his fingers through his tousled curls and blinked hard a few times. He really did need to focus on…some important paper or another… He aimlessly shuffled the documents and sighed heavily as he again surveyed the room.

The round table. It equalized the men who served Rome – fostered a sense of comradery and brotherhood…or at least that had been its intent. But there had still been a Commanding Officer, just as now there had to be a King. Or at least that was what they kept telling him. Why did it have to be him? Did they not know that titles and accolades made him…well…uncomfortable?

From the corner of his eye he caught movement just outside one of the doors. Reaching down, he wrapped a hand around the hilt of his dagger. Merlin had warned him that some of the Woad tribes were unhappy with his appointment as King as well as his marriage to Guinevere and advised that Arthur be extra cautious… Rising slowly Arthur stretched his back and pretended to be searching for a document; as he rummaged, he worked his way closer to the doorway where he had spied the movement earlier. With a final glance to the table, he pounced – simultaneously grabbing at whatever might be lurking in the shadows and drawing his dagger. He was surprised when he actually made contact with something and even more surprised when that something screamed…and sounded suspiciously like his wife…

Stepping back, he pulled her into the room before releasing her. He watched as she caught her breath, her hand splayed over her chest while she stared up at him as though he'd lost his mind.

"What is wrong with you?" They stopped and each stared at the other while waiting for a response to the joint inquiry.

"There is nothing wrong with me…though I cannot say the same for you…" They both stopped again and stared at each other before Arthur held his hand up, signaling he would speak first.

"I am sorry…I am on edge since your father brought word to my ears that some of the Woads are unhappy at all that has transpired. He told me I should be on-guard, so…" Arthur gestured toward the round table and furrowed his brow at the way his wife was staring at him until he realized he was still brandishing his dagger. Smiling sheepishly he re-sheathed the weapon on his belt. "I was just being cautious…" Pausing, he cleared his throat and tried to redirect the conversation. "What are you doing here?"

Guinevere shrugged one shoulder and winked. "Protecting you." She laughed when Arthur's jaw became slack and he stared at her in disbelief.

"Protecting me?"

"Aye. That was what I said." She stepped closer and put her hands upon his waist before looking up into his green eyes. "I had asked my father not to tell you of the threats…you have so much on your mind that you do not need one more thing weighing upon you..."

Arthur gently touched the long, dark strands that fell over her shoulders as he softly repeated her words. "You were protecting me…" Shaking his head, he studied her face before caressing her cheek tenderly with his hand. His mind searched for words that might ease the worry he could see in the depths of her eyes. "I do not know what to say to that. I am… I am…" Arthur grasped at words that would not come before deciding that perhaps instead of words he ought to show her how deeply her concern for his well-being touched him.

He pulled her forward with his fingertips, bending slightly so he could capture her lips. He smiled ever so slightly when he felt her hand grasp his shoulder. He gave in to her when her other hand came to rest upon his waist and her lips parted, deepening the kiss. One hand slipped into her long tresses and the other found a resting place upon the small of her back as Arthur relished the taste of his wife. She was wild and untamed; if freedom had a taste, he imagined it would taste an awful lot like Guinevere.

Breaking the kiss, Arthur whispered against her cheek. "Why am I King? Why was I chosen?"

"Why must you always ask why?" Guinevere stroked her husband's stubbled cheek with the backs of slender fingers and watched as he shrugged. "You are King because that is what you are. Deep inside, it is who you are…who you were meant to be…" She leaned back and rested her fingertip upon his chest. "And we can never truly deny who we are…never. Eventually even you could not. It was why you took me to your bed – why you stayed when the others were leaving…because in the end you could no longer deny that you were not of this island and that these were not your people too…" Guinevere gestured around as she spoke before bringing her finger back to rest upon Arthur's chest and gazing up into his face. "Just as now you cannot deny that they need you – they need your guidance, your strength, your wisdom to unite them and to lead them forward. You are their King." She tugged on his tunic for extra emphasis.

Arthur shook his head and bit his lips while he listened to his wife speak. Indeed, he found he could not deny that she was correct. And he also could not deny how she again amazed him with her insights – how quickly she could boil things down to the most common element.

"Aye…you are correct. I did realize those things – and more." He smiled at her furrowed brow. "You seem to forget our conversation when you were injured and in the wagon…your statement or, rather, challenge that even my father had found something on this island to his liking…so surely I could as well…" Bending his neck so he could speak into her ear, Arthur whispered. "And you were correct then just as you are now. I did indeed find something. Care to know what it is?" He winked as Guin laughed softly but his brow furrowed as she backed out of his arms.

"I most certainly would, my King." Guinevere squared her shoulders and crossed her arms over her bodice as Arthur nodded and proceeded to walk a very slow circle around her before stopping in the spot where he had started. She trembled slightly as the heat flared between her thighs at the desire she saw in her husband's eyes.

"My Queen." Arthur uttered the phrase huskily before pulling her to him and kissing with all the passion she ignited within him. Hoisting her in his arms, he groaned as her legs slipped around his waist as he hastily carried her to their chambers, leaving important papers and matters of discussion and memories of threats behind.


	7. Lancelot

**Disclaimer:** Still nothing being made.

**A/N:** So I began to think of Lancelot alternately. As in, what if he doesn't have any romantic feelings for Guinevere…what if what he really feels is, well, disdain for her? What if he stepped in front of the arrow not for her, but rather for Arthur? You know, to save his best friend's girl. I know, I know – twists your mind. Or did everyone know this and I'm just late to the party…? Either way, don't read this expecting some soliloquy about his unrequited love for Guinevere. Ain't happening.

* * *

Twisting in the furs, Lancelot growled and kicked his feet angrily…only to succeed in further knotting the offending articles tighter around his feet and legs. Muttering under his breath about the love of gods and goddesses above and below, he sat up and tugged at the furs. With each segment of fur that he uncoiled, curses that would've made Bors blush rolled off his tongue. Finally succeeding in freeing his appendages from their furry bondage, Lancelot's scowl faded. He wiggled his toes and reached down to scratch the itch on his calf. It was then he realized that the portion of the bed where his wife should be located was vacant. Briefly he wondered if this was one of those dreams like the one he had heard Galahad asking Tristan about – one where it seemed too real not to be a dream but it really was a dream… Shaking his head, Lancelot squeezed his eyes shut and willed away any and all thoughts of the Pup or Tristan since they had no place being anywhere near him and most especially not while in his bed. His wife, on the other hand…

Lancelot slipped out of the bed and grabbed his breeches. The night was a bit cool so he felt around for his tunic before recalling it was draped over the warm, supple flesh of his wife's body. They had made love and afterward she had slipped it on, saying that he was a mid-night fur thief and at least his tunic would fend off the chill. Snorting, Lancelot found he could not dispute her assessment though he would much rather be the one warding the chill away instead of some tunic.

Shaking his head, he stopped to ponder just where he ought to begin his quest to find his wife. He was about to set off in search through the house when, for some reason, he felt the urge to instead check the courtyard off their bedroom. Lancelot let out a quiet combination of a snort and a laugh when, upon looking, he discovered Elaine seated upon a fur, her head thrown back as she stared at the sky. Shaking dark curls, Lancelot stepped out into the night air and approached her.

"What are you doing…?"

"Shhh…" Elaine rolled her head toward Lancelot and shushed him again as she reached up and grasped his hand, tugging it until he sat heavily upon the fur next to her. They sat in silence for a while until Lancelot could no longer take it.

"I give up. What are you doing and why are we being quiet?"

"I am enjoying the tranquility of the night…and so are you." She turned and smiled at her husband gently, squeezing his hand that she held.

"Tranquility?" Had his wife gone mad? There was nothing tranquil about nights on this island. They were full of noises…you simply had to discern which noises were harmless and which noises meant you better grab your sword or you would be kissing your ass farewell.

"Yes, Lancelot, tranquility. The sky is clear and the moon is so bright…so big…so beautiful…" Elaine smiled at him and motioned around. "Everything is resting for the day to come."

Lancelot did not know how to break his wife's heart and tell her that not everything rested when the world became dark. In fact, in the dark was when you were even more likely to be eaten by something on this godsforsaken island. He rubbed his temple with his free hand and wondered where one even began an attempt at explaining all the dangers that lurked in the darkness. Gods knew he would not explain the dangers that lurked in the night to her the way the elder Knights had explained it when Lancelot's group had arrived at the fort. He swore that was the exact moment that Galahad had permanently become affixed to Gawain. Although…thinking on that a bit further…perhaps Elaine affixing herself to him was not such a terrible idea after all… Leaning over, Lancelot curled a long, blonde strand around his finger.

"You know, my dearest, not everything slumbers when it is night…" He nodded as she looked at him in confusion. "Tis true. Some things are more active at night…and some things are only active at night... In fact, of all the times of day night time is by far the most dangerous. It is when you are most likely to be eaten."

"Lancelot…" Elaine raised a brow at her husband who sat back and held his hands up.

"Tis true. All manner of truly dangerous creature prefers the cover of darkness."

"Truly?"

"Would I lie to you?" Lancelot smiled at his wife and motioned around. "Darkness offers the best cover for all types of reprehensible acts and despicable creatures. Danger is in every shadow. There is always something waiting…biding its time…until it can pounce upon and eat you." Lancelot leaned in and, for good measure, grabbed Elaine's arm as he mentioned the pouncing and eating portion. He could not contain the quiet laugh when she let out a small shriek.

"Why are you trying to frighten me?"

"I am doing no such thing. I am being honest with you." Lancelot again leaned toward his wife and played with a strand of her hair. "Very dangerous creatures depend upon the dark to ply their trade."

Elaine smiled and shook her head. "Does that include my husband?"

"Why ever would you say such a thing? I am…disturbed…" Lancelot feigned shock and surprise and even a bit of insult at the implication. Though he knew she was right. In the dark, he was probably the most dangerous, most reprehensible creature on the loose as well as the one most likely to devour a beautiful, warm woman such as the one currently seated next to him.

"No, my love, a good number of your brethren are disturbed – deeply. You are just…"

"Trying to get between my wife's thighs yet again this evening?"

"Aye."

"Did it work?"

"Can you just be silent and enjoy the tranquility of the night?" She listened as he sighed and muttered in his own language.

"I am going to bed. When you have finished enjoying the tranquility of the night, wake me and we can enjoy the…non-tranquility of the night. Together."

Lancelot stood and walked back to their chambers, pausing in the doorway to observe his wife. She was again sitting with her head thrown back and her arms wrapped around her knees; her eyes were closed as she was simply still… And he was envious. He could never sit that still…could never quiet his mind and simply listen to, well, nothing because for him there never was nothing. Elaine was calm and peaceful – the angry argument that always seemed to roil within him was absent in her…and Lancelot envied her for that. He had hoped that somehow once he was wed to her that calm would permeate his being as well, but it had not. He felt the curses rise within him and turned toward the bed then turned back toward the courtyard. Before he realized it, his feet had carried him back to the fur. Dropping to his knees, Lancelot rested his forehead on Elaine's shoulder and let out a deep breath when he felt her fingers curl in his hair.

"Shh…" She spoke before he could utter a word. "I am enjoying the tranquility of the night…"

"And so am I." Lancelot closed his eyes and clasped his wife's hand as he shifted his weight so he sat on the fur next to her, his cheek resting on her shoulder while he breathed deeply and tried his best to simply focus on listening to nothing.


	8. Agravaine

**Disclaimer:** Not making anything off this.

**A/N: ** I was reminded that it is not my place to judge. I am just here as scribe. But I am also glad I listened to my gut and put this in the 'M' category because I knew someone would get potty-mouth and indeed someone has. Again, this bears no relation to anything prior.

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Agravaine stretched his back and swore under his breath. This ride was taking forever and listening to the Roman politico or whatever he was piss and moan about the bumpy terrain wasn't helping matters either. Sighing heavily, Agravaine caught Bedwyr's eye and blinked – it was a long, unhurried gesture that he knew the elder would understand; he was relieved when Beds bobbed his dark maned head before leaning over to whisper something to Kay, who leaned forward slightly to look across Beds' horse with a curt nod as well.

Heaving another sigh, Agravaine let his shoulders relax a bit…and let his mind wander. Unlike some of the others, he could not drift off to sleep in the saddle but he had found that letting his mind float and focus on something completely unrelated was nearly as good as sleep to refresh his focus. Besides who the fuck could sleep anyway with the way Bors snored? The pudgy one had explained that Van was pregnant (again) and restless in her sleep…which meant Bors was getting little sleep as well… Agravaine recalled, with a snort and shake of his copper mane, that his advice – either for Vanora to just keep her legs shut for once or for Bors to tie it in a knot – had not been well-received and had in fact led to Bors threatening to beat Grav's ass…which had only led to Grav leaning over and telling Bors to try…and their brothers scrambling to keep them apart.

They rode on and Agravaine shifted in his saddle. The Pup had been bitching just a few moments ago about his ass hurting and a few hours ago Agravaine would have agreed. Now his ass was just numb…but his lower back felt like it had been set ablaze. Gods how he wanted to be back at the fort already so he could stretch out in front of a warm fire without having to worry about some Woad watching and waiting for the right moment to lodge an arrow in his skull.

And, if pressed, he would confess that he also wanted to be back to the fort already to see what condition his quarters were in. He had observed many, many months ago that his room seemed to be a bit…tidier than those of his brothers. Whenever he returned from patrol or a mission, there was always fresh, cold water waiting as well as some sort of food: fruit; cheese and olives; bread; some dried meat; or, sometimes, all of the aforementioned. He had been unable to figure it out until, after a few weeks of well-aired furs and tasty snacks, he had become overly curious and tasked his personal snitch with finding out what was going on…and if he ought to be concerned.

Grav hadn't been shocked when, upon returning from his next patrol, Mouse had appeared at his side, whispering for Agravaine to make note of a tall, dark haired girl a few paces away to his left before whispering that was the wench responsible and supplying a name. Sigune. Agravaine had said it over and over in his mind as he had appraised her from top to bottom between long, slow blinks. He had taken in her appearance – tall but not wispy. There was some meat to her bones, which he liked since he had found the slender ones tended to…break…far too easily. He had been lost in appraising her when he felt Mouse's elbow jab him in the side and the much smaller Knight had leaned over to whisper, somewhat amusedly, that he'd caught the wench in Grav's quarters becoming…friendly…with his brother's furs. When Grav's brow had furrowed deeply, Mouse had explained thru quiet, snorting laughs that he'd waited to see who it would be and witnessed Sigune entering Grav's quarters, then curiously peeking about to make certain no one was watching. Except she had not realized a Mouse was taking note of every move she made…how she tidied the things on the table and set out the food she'd brought; how she brushed off the mantle; and not the least how she slipped out of her garments to writhe and squirm among the furs while gasping and moaning his brother's name… Smirking, Mouse had nudged Agravaine in the ribs with a wink before whispering she really did have a very nice ass before he'd disappeared into the evening leaving a completely shocked and speechless Agravaine to contemplate the innocent looking, sweetly laughing girl.

Blinking slowly, Agravaine traced the inside of his bottom teeth with his tongue as he continued to let his mind drift and contemplate her. As he'd observed, Sigune was taller than most but shorter than Jules, his brother's woman, which meant she would come to just under his shoulder – a very good height, in his estimation. Though he'd seen no children and had, in fact, seen her go out of her way to avoid contact with any of Bors' brood (which showed she possessed above average intelligence as well as common sense), he figured she had none of her own…which had made him speculate, with a wolf's grin, that if he made her dream of writhing and moaning underneath him come true, he just might be the first to do so. He had to admit, that idea held great appeal.

He felt the smack on his shoulder and startled out of his reverie as his brother, Mordred, rode past with a nod and grin followed by the twins – Gaheris and Gareth. He shook his head as Mordred turned in his saddle and stared at him. Noting that Grav made no move to catch up, Mordred rolled his eyes and shook his black curls as the twins fell in on either side of him to quietly commence whatever plotting they were up to.

Letting out a deep breath, Agravaine recalled talking to Mordred about Sigune. It had not gone well. Mordred's advice had been to bed the woman, find a small house and settle in for the duration or however long. Agravaine had countered that he did not intend to do any such thing – that perhaps he would simply wait until he had his paper of passage, pick her up and toss her over his horse on his way out of the fort… Mordred's laughter still rang in his ears as the elder had howled in amusement and then fixed keen blue eyes upon him, suddenly becoming serious and stating in a cool tone that any woman that would let that happen to her was not worth the effort. The argument had picked up after that with each taking a differing side as to whether their father had simply scooped their mother up and ridden off with her or if they had begun a life here, on the island, prior to his release from service. Of course, it was not as if they could simply ask their father, so they had (at Jules' behest) grudgingly agreed to not beat the shit out of each other and to respect that the other brother was dead wrong and stupid.

He'd contemplated his brother's words of advice and nearly been ready to act upon them when they'd lost Griflet in a skirmish with the Woads. It had not so much been losing Grif as it had been watching his lover standing at his graveside, her hands cradling an enormous stomach heavy with the child of his fallen brother. Agravaine knew there had been many others in the past that had stood similarly, but for him to watch her cry over the man she loved and had ripped away long before it had been his time… Long coppery strands shook as Agravaine recalled how that had provided the final nail, sealing his resolve against "settling in" with Sigune as his brother had suggested. No matter how attractive he found her (and gods knew he did just by how tight and uncomfortable his leathers had become while thinking about her and it was twice as bad when he was actually near her), Agravaine could not convince himself that the benefits outweighed the risks.

Rolling his eyes as he heard Bors choke on a snore, Agravaine nodded to Beds and Kay, both of whom did likewise, before he spurred his horse forward. Hitting a low point in the terrain, he hissed as his back jarred and thought that perhaps…just perhaps…spending an evening with Sigune writhing and moaning beneath him and atop him was just what his lower back needed…


End file.
